Me and You and a Dog Named June
by Carole C
Summary: Crazy isn't contagious, but phobia is a contact poison. Sam, Dean and June enter an asylum to battle a blood-thirsty monster spawned from purest innocence. Threefold Cord AU. Dean, Sam and June. No spoilers. Nothing explicit, Adult concepts.
1. Chapter 1

_**Then:**_

The growl was low and deep, almost too low to hear over the storm.__

A low, harsh huffing.

Heavy, wet breathing, getting closer.

Something big.

It was toying with him.

Stalking him.

He couldn't run, couldn't move. His heart pounded in his ears as he rolled his eyes, but there was nothing to see.

But he could hear it. Claws clicked on the tile as the thing circled his bed, snarling. And he could smell it now, the oily odor of rank fur, the rancid stench of its breath as it brushed his face. A strangled whimper lodged in his throat as thick saliva dripped on his cheek. He tried to jerk his head away and then the thing was on him, crushing, slashing with teeth and claws he couldn't see.

He still couldn't move.

But he could scream.

_**Now:**_

_**Memphis, TN**_

"I'm borrred..."

Dean looked around to where June hung head down off the sofa seat, ankles hooked over the back. Before he got his mouth open, though, Sam beat him to it.

"_Never_ say that!" he told her, half-serious. "It's a sure way to invite disaster. And straighten up, that can't be good for your incisions."

"They're healed, Sam." June somersaulted onto her feet and tossed her hair back off her face. "You know they are. I don't know why you keep babyin' me." She bounced like she was skipping rope. "There, you didn't feel one thing rattlin' around loose inside, did ya, and you know it's been at least a week since I've coughed. "

"June..."

She sank to her knees between Sam's legs, her hands on his thighs and her face turned up to his. For the first time in a long time, she looked about sixteen again. Funny how she could turn the whole jail-bait thing on and off like that.

"Come on, honey. I know you're going stir-crazy, and I bet Dean is too. I'm not asking to go slay a nest of vampires, Sam. But can't we go out and just have a little fun tonight, like normal people do on a Saturday?"

"Hate to break it to you, Nose Marie," Dean quipped, "But normal people we ain't."

"Thus the _like_ normal people. It's called simile. Google it. S-i-m-i-l-e. Please Sam? We haven't done anything just for fun in ages."

Sam looked at her, then over at Dean.

"Hey, don't look at me for arguments against goin' out and havin' fun." Dean lifted spread hands.

"Wanna come with?" Sam asked.

"If I drive," Dean grinned, pulling his keys out of his pocket to dangle from a finger.

"Yay!" June exulted, jumping up and tearing around the end of the couch. "But hang on a minute, I need to change!"

"Change into what?" Dean called after her. "The shaggy dog act not workin' for you anymore?"

"You're slippin', sugar, if that's the best you can do."

Sam gathered up his keys, wallet and phone with an indulgent grin on his face.

Dean did the three pocket slap then shrugged on his jacket. "Hurry it up, Tinkerbell. That closet's not big enough to get lost in."

"Geez, get a grip, sugar! I'm out of practice putting clothes _on_ fast, y'know!"

"That reminds me. I've been thinkin' about how you could pull your own weight around here," Dean called to her.

"Oh yeah?"

"Ever considered a career in the lucrative world of exotic dance?"

She snickered. "Actually, yes, but I'm too short and too freckled. And I never was able to think of a really good stripper name."

"Bebe LeStrange," Sam offered.

June laughed and came back out, doing a little two-step as she zipped up her boots mid-stride. "I kinda like that one."

Sam gave her a mock-critical look. "You sure those jeans are gonna maintain structural integrity?"

Dean's eyebrows rose as his head tilted. "Or is that body paint?"

"One way to find out, huh, big guy?" she teased back with a wanton wiggle, then grabbed Sam's hand and pulled. "Come onnnn- the night's wastin'!"

Sam stood and grabbed his jacket. Dean was halfway out the door. June wasn't the only one going stir-crazy from too many days cooped up in hospital and motel rooms.


	2. Chapter 2

"Either of you got any idea which way to head?" Dean asked as he backed out of their space.

"Not me," Sam shrugged.

"The Gutter," June suggested.

"Not askin' where you'll wind up, Yapster," Dean answered.

"Then why not The Gutter?" she persisted. "We can start _and_ finish there. No wasted drinking time. Seriously, guys, it's a bar and grill in an old bowling alley. It's the only place I know in Memphis, but since y'all don't know any place, why not check it out?"

"What do you think?" Dean looked over at Sam.

"Sounds a lot like He-Ain't-Here," Sam answered.

"That was a helluva fun night," Dean grinned.

Sam rubbed his head, a half-smile on his face. "For you. I think I still have a scar from that bottle."

"Nah, I stitched you up right," Dean assured him and glanced back at June. "Which way, Huckleberry Hound?"

"Southwest, towards the river."

The Gutter turned out to be in a marginal part of town, but it looked to be a few rungs up from their usual dives. The suspicious looks they got as they stepped inside had him wondering if they'd wind up in a brawl regardless. They made it through the place unchallenged and ordered their drinks.

June knocked back her shot and then gave the bartender a withering look when he set a glass of champagne in front of her. "I didn't ask for this."

"From one of the gentlemen at the corner table." The bartender nodded that way with a slight smile.

"Tell him thank you, but we've got it covered," Sam said, pushing the glass back.

"Tell _you_ to mind your own business!" June captured the wine.

Sam stared at her but she didn't duck her head and back down. Dean migrated to a pool table in a hurry to clear the drama zone.

Sam dropped his eyes first. "Do whatever you want tonight," he shrugged, and gestured for another beer. She patted his chest then headed over to the corner, bubbly in hand and a sultry smile on her face.

"Ditched ya, did she?" Dean grinned and handed Sam a cue when he ambled over, trying to look casual. He racked the balls. "It's you and me again, just like the good ol' days."

"Yeah. Just you and me." Sam gave his cue a half-hearted chalking.

"Please, Sam, curb your enthusiasm." Dean broke the rack. "People will talk."

"Does that look normal to you?" Sam's attention was focused across the room, and Dean followed his line of sight.

One at a time, June was engaging in some quasi-European cheek-kissing and region-free neck-nuzzling PDAs with the four men at the table.

Dean's eyebrows lifted. "Huh. Nooo. But this is June we're talking about. As long as she doesn't strip naked and dance on the table, I'm stayin' out of it." The cue ball teetered and dropped. "Dammit."

"And if she does?" Sam retrieved it and lined up his first shot.

"Then I'm really stayin' out of it."

Sam sank his first ball and moved to line up his second. He glanced over before he took his shot. "That is not normal human social behavior." He missed his second and nearly scratched.

"Yeah, agreed, so why are you here and not over there doing something about it? She's your dog."

"I told her she could do whatever she wanted."

"Obviously, she's taking you up on your word," Dean shrugged. "Hey, you ever hear the one about the dog in the manger?"

"What?"

"If you don't want to eat the hay, don't keep everybody else from takin' a bite."

Sam tapped his arm with the cue. "She's comin'."

"And in tow," Dean muttered, and finished off his beer. The man attached to her crooked arm was a few inches shorter than him and Sam, but he made up for it in beef. June pulled him right up into close conversational distance. Almost too close. Dean was primed to stare the stranger down if he showed any attitude, but the other man wouldn't quite meet his eyes.

"Sam, Dean-" June's voice barely carried over the bar noise, even at almost arm's length. "This is Jim Matthews, Pack Leader of Memphis Prime. He owns the bar. Jim, these are my Hunters, Sam the Joshua and Dean, his Caleb. "

Dean shot Sam a startled look and got a 'roll with it' nod in return.

Matthews gave them that odd submissive head-duck and nod June used when Sam was all over her case about something. "I praise the Father I've been blessed to meet you both," he said, his voice as low as June's. "The Memphis Pack honors you and extends every welcome."

"Uh..." Dean said. "Thanks."

"I bless the Father for honoring me as your Hunter Joshua. May his will be done. My gratitude to your Pack, with that of my Caleb and the Major," Sam answered smoothly, and Dean shot him another startled look. "Is there anything we should know about in your territory, Pack Leader?"

Jim gave an odd shrug. "We do have an escalating situation, but it's nothing we can't handle on our own, Hunter Joshua."

"I'm sure it isn't," Sam agreed, "But now that we're here, you don't have to put your people at risk. What's the situation?"

Why was Sam volunteering their necks? Wasn't covering Hunter ass the Hound Prime Directive? Dean gave Sam a scowl that Sam ignored.

Jim flashed Sam a smile and jerked his head towards the rear of the place. "Would you care to go to the back and discuss it? Not everyone here tonight is privy to Pack business."

Dean could hardly keep himself from scanning the bar crowd again. 'Not everyone' meant that most were. Explained why nobody gave June's scratch-n-sniff session much notice.

Dean swept a hand in front of him, wordlessly indicating Jim to go first.

Jim gave him another of those weird little nods and took June's arm again. As they passed through the bar, Dean realized he could count the dogs by how many subtle head-dips they got as they passed.

They entered the kitchen and, as if it had been rehearsed, every person they passed sank to their knees, head bowed in submission. Dean's eyes widened as they rose and went about their duties after the group passed by.

"...the hell?" Dean whispered.

"Later," Sam whispered out of the side of his mouth.

"Y' better," Dean whispered back.

Jim led them into a perfectly normal, shabby but comfortable office for a bar-owner. As the door closed, Dean caught a glimpse of two scarred-up specimens taking up guard position on either side in the hall.

"Please," Jim told them. "Make yourselves comfortable. Can I get you anything else to eat or drink?"

"No, thanks. I'm good." Dean sat down slowly.

"Thanks, maybe later." Sam sprawled in a chair like he owned the place-who knows? maybe now he did- and June shocked him by planting her shrink-wrapped behind in Jim's lap. "I have what I want," she purred.

Dean looked from the couple to his brother. He definitely had the feeling he was the only one in the class who hadn't done the assigned reading. "So what's this escalating situation?"

"You may have heard of the old Waverly Insane Asylum?" Jim began.

Sam nodded. "Didn't it almost burn to the ground in the 1890's?"

"There were a number of fires over the nineteenth century. They kept rebuilding it over the old foundations," Jim said, "Still do, actually. It's the Tri-County Mental Health and Development Center now. Houses a lot of disabled or disturbed indigents and the long-term mentally ill in addition to the usual short-term and out-patient care. Basically its always been a refuge for any ill, lost or confused soul who has nowhere else to go."

"Even if they've shuffled off this mortal coil?" Dean put in.

Jim nodded. "It's long been known to be haunted. It's listed on several of those annoying ghost-hunter sites. The unused buildings on the grounds attract all kinds of kooks and crackpots."

"If this is a routine haunting," Sam asked, "Why do you think it warrants our attention, even as an amusement?"

Sam seemed to be entirely ignoring the fact that Jim and June weren't exactly being prim and proper behind that desk. Dean couldn't seem to focus on anything but. Holy crap, did Jim just _lick_ her? _There?_ In front of Sam?

Dean shot a stunned glance at Sam, who seemed as serene as Gandhi while he watched the dog show. Now all the red lights and sirens were going off for Dean. Even for Saint Samuel, that was no kind of normal.

Jim lifted his head away from June's cleavage and nodded like this was any normal conversation. "That's the heart of it. We suspect it's something far beyond residuals or a vengeful that's taken up residence out there this year." He reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a file. June took it from his hand and passed it to Sam.

Dean moved over to prop a hip on Sam's chair arm and read over his shoulder. He let out a whistle at the photos. The first victim had only minor scratches over his torso. The last one was a mess of ragged slash wounds, ripped down to bone in spots. "That's no poltergeist showing off."

"These injuries," Sam said, "There's no mundane explanation for them?"

Jim shook his head. "I know institutions like that have a bad reputation, but Tri-County's a tight ship and run right. There was nothing in the patients' rooms that could have inflicted those wounds, and the patients themselves had none of their own skin under their nails. The worst wounded is a quadriplegic."

"So none of the attacks have been on staff members or visitors?" June asked.

"Right. It's limiting itself to patients."

"A coward then," she sneered.

"Or a scavenger, going after the sickest of the herd," Jim nodded.

"Or it could be straight-up staff abuse," Dean countered.

"Always a possibility. Our next step in investigation would be to put Pack members on the inside, but now that you're here-" he inclined his head, "I turn the investigation over to you, if you care to take an interest."

"With the full assistance of the Pack?" Sam added.

"Of course."

"What about the full assistance of the staff?" Dean asked.

Jim shook his head. "That's a complicating factor. The amateurs and trespassers have left such a lasting bad impression that the Director won't even consider a non-mundane explanation, much less allow an overt investigation team to set foot in the facilities."

"What do you think?" Sam asked Dean.

Dean shrugged. "Couldn't hurt to slide in undercover and check it out. Be a good way to get Precious over there back up to speed."

"May I keep this?" Sam asked Jim, lifting the folder.

"Everything I have is yours, Hunter Joshua," Jim answered.

"Thank you, Pack Leader." Sam gave the man a cool nod, as if Jim only confirmed common courtesy.

Dean glowered at Jim and June. "Looks to me like you're thinkin' everything of Sam's is yours, Jim-bob."

Jim took his hands off June and held them up, palms out. "No offense intended, Hunter Caleb."

"None taken, Jim," Sam assured him with another regal nod.

What the hell? Answering for him like that? Dean gave Sam a furtive elbow to the ribs. He could have jabbed the chair for all the reaction he got.

Sam stood up. "June, are you coming with us?"

"If' it's ok with you," she answered, "I'd like to stay with Jim for a while."

Sam nodded. "We can look after ourselves tonight."

"Then don't wait up, honey- and don't you rush back either, you hear?"

"Got research to do now." Sam lifted the folder in his hand.

"Sam, dammit!" June hopped down off Jim's lap and blocked him at the door. "This-" she reached out and lightly backhanded the folder, "Can wait till morning. You need to take care of other urgent matters tonight. Tonight's for having fun, remember? You do recall fun, right?"

"Barely," he smiled.

"Let me refresh your memory," Dean told him, with a clap on the back that was a few degrees more solid than usual. "Jim, been nice to meet ya, say hello and shalom to the wife and pups for us, we'll be in touch. Gotta run. Places to go, women to do."

"Then good luck in that hunt too, my friends," Jim chuckled behind them and said something to June in a voice too low for Dean to catch. Whatever it was provoked a throaty laugh he hadn't heard before.

The guards knelt as they went through the door, the kitchen staff did the genuflection wave again as they went through and Sam nodded benediction on them all like the Hound pope. Dean lengthened his stride to get the hell out of bizarro world as quickly as possible.

"Does it ever occur to you that I might have plans?" Sam said as soon as the bar's back door closed behind them.

"Uh, no, Your Highness- and why is that?" Dean dug his keys out of his pocket. "Oh! I know. It's because _you never do._" He unlocked the driver's door and tossed them over to Sam.

Sam unlocked, got in, and tossed the keys back. "Tonight I do, Prince Varlet."

"Really." Dean started the car and pulled out. "Tell me- and if you say research, so help me I'll pull this car over, drag you out and kick your ass all the way around it."

Sam chuffed and shook his head. "This is Memphis, Dean. Beale street- the best live music in the country."

"Exactly! So- ?"

"Drive to Beale street. Look for B.B. King's. We'll start there and work our way out till we're too drunk to drive or last call, whichever comes first."

"I'm in," Dean grinned and headed towards Beale. Sam was acting like Sam again. Dean was willing to leave the weirdness back there with the Hounds for now, since Sam was too.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean wasn't clear on the name of the place they were in now, but the music was good and the women were better. Especially the one he had his arm around. They squirmed through the crowd, and she managed to keep her hand in his back pocket the whole way. That kind of agility was promising, and even better, he was almost certain he wasn't going to wake up next to a German shepherd.

"Sammy!" he called out as they neared the table where a very relaxed looking Sam was having a deep conversation with a pretty blonde. Sam glanced over and waved.

"This is my brother," he and Sam said almost simultaneously.

"Dean," Sam added, nodding to Dean.

"Sam." Dean said it before he realized they were talking over one another again.

The blonde laughed. "Do you two practice that?"

"Practice what?" Damned if they didn't do it again.

The women burst out into equally simultaneous giggles. "I'm Stacey. Please t'meet ya, Dean."

"I'm Amber," his armful smiled. "Likewise all 'round."

"Anyway-" Sam smiled.

"Anyway, we're takin' off," Dean told him.

"She have a car?" Sam asked.

"Do you?" he asked Amber. They hadn't gotten around to comparing wheels.

"I do," she said with a sly little smile and a squeeze in his back pocket.

Sam nodded. "Take her car. Call me in the morning and I'll come pick you up."

"Sure, thanks."

"Good to meet you Sam, Stacey," Amber nodded and gave Dean's back pocket a tug. He was happy to follow her lead, for now.

Sam waved them off, his attention back on Stacey.

-oOo-

"Alive! Alive... It's... alllliiiiivvve!" Sam exulted as Dean shambled up to the car.

"Barely," he grunted, closed the door very gingerly and reached for his shades.

Sam handed him a cup of coffee.

"Thanks," he mumbled, trying to find a spot where the visor would cut the low, glaring early morning sun. Dean tipped his cup up, aiming for maximum intake of caffeine with minimum third degree burns.

Sam didn't say another word, but every time Dean glanced over, he could see a smile on his brother's face. "You're disgustingly chipper this morning."

"That's because I didn't drink myself onto my ass last night."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time. What_ did_ you do last night?"

"I had a good time in Memphis."

"And?"

"And the rest is need to know-"

"And I don't need to know, I know," he finished for Sam and yawned. "Dog come home yet?"

"She's heading in now."

"Did she have a good time in Memphis?"

"NTK."

"Speaking of..." Dean popped the top on his cup and peered in to confirm that all the coffee was indeed gone. "What was all that bowing and scraping back at Matthew's dive?"

"Proper respect." Sam's smile faded then. "At least, that's how they see it. We're a big deal for them. The fulfillment of major prophecy."

"Their Great White Hope," Dean muttered. He tried to coax out the last drop that clung to the indention in the bottom of the cup.

"Pretty much."

"Said the Aztecs to Cortez." Dean put the lid back on his cup and wedged it between the seat and the door.

"Thanks for the resounding vote of confidence," Sam shot him a sour look.

"Sorry, but come on- June used the word messiah in relation to that prophecy. You gotta admit that's goin' way over the top."

"Messiah as in the original meaning; rescuer and liberator," Sam said. "I don't have a Christ-complex."

"Never entered my mind," Dean assured him. He readjusted the visor. "So, Hunter Joshua, I get. But what's a Caleb?"

"The Boy Wonder to my Batman." Sam's smile was back.

"Sam. I'm Batman. I'll always be Batman."

"Just be glad I'm not gonna insist on the tights."

"Dude! Hung-over here, remember? You do not want that coffee to make an encore appearance."

Sam grimaced. "Okay, okay. Caleb was Joshua's best friend and right-hand man, his partner in espionage."

"That's cool. I can wear that across my chest," Dean nodded. "But what does all this mean for us? What are we expected to do?"

Sam shot him a look. "Well, first, you get past that hang-over and take a shower, because dude- you reek."

Dean lifted his jacket sleeve to his nose and inhaled. "I smell like good times."

"Exactly. After that, as best I can tell, we keep right on doing what we've always done."

Dean raked his fingers through his hair. "There's somethin' else I'm havin' trouble wrappin' my head around from last night."

"I'm surprised you can even remember last night," Sam smirked.

"Oh haha, Captain Sanctimonious. What the heck's goin' on between you and June? No, wait, let me be more precise. Why the heck is nothin' goin' on between you and June? I thought you two were like, more than married."

"Not seein' the need to know here," Sam grumbled.

"Stuff that. We live in the same room. I know whether I need to or not."

"You wouldn't understand." Sam stared straight ahead.

"I understand blue, Sammy, so give it a shot."

Sam braked hard at a light and glared at him. "By what convoluted twist of reality is this any of your business?"

Dean took off his shades and rubbed his eyes. Did he really want to get into this now? Anytime in the foreseeable future? But the off-key notes with Sam were piling up.

"It's my business because you're my business. You've changed, Sam, and you're so soused on hair of the dog you can't see it."

Two blocks passed, Sam's clenched teeth his only response. Another light caught them. "You're jealous," Sam snapped.

"No—"

Sam's hand snaked out and bit into his shoulder. Dean watched as Sam's expression softened and he moved his hand back to the wheel.

"There's nothing to worry about, either. I'm not in danger," Sam said in a gentler tone.

"No, not at this moment. But that dog's flipped some jumper switches or something. I'm not sure I know you anymore. And not knowing you- really knowing you- could get one of us killed."

"All this because you don't approve of my sex life? Come on, Dean, that's crossing the paranoia line and at least half a dozen others, don't y' think?"

"Yeah, guess so. Forget I said anything. Residual Jack Black backfirin'." He put his shades back on and slouched down to pillow his head against the window ledge.

"You can love yourself, but you can't be in-love with yourself. Does that make sense to you?" Sam asked.

He must have fallen asleep because when Sam spoke, he sat up to see that they were sitting parked in front of their room, the engine ticking as it cooled. "You're saying she's really part of you, then. Like, internal organ part of you."

Sam nodded without looking over.

"Wish you'd known that before you signed up?"

"I knew," Sam said, still not looking over. "As much as I was able to know, before."

"But you do love her, in some whacked out, 'I adore my cute little extra spleen' way?"

Sam nodded.

"Then why the sudden cloud of gloom? It's obvious she loves you back."

"Is it?" Sam did look at him then, something indefinable in his expression.

"Sam, get a grip. She freakin' asked your permission to screw around last night. You said yes. Can't really hold that against her."

Sam blurted a laugh with a bitter edge to it. "It's not about that. If I program my computer to say 'I love you, Sam' every time I log on- does it really love me?"

Oh gawd, this was way too deep for a hung-over morning on one cup of coffee. But he'd started it, so he couldn't really bitch. "I know you're going to be pissed at me just for bringin' it up- but you didn't see her after you took off with Ruby, or how hard she was tryin' to get to you in that chapel. She didn't know you were about to kick-start Armageddon in there- she was frantic because you were in danger. I don't know how much choice she has about it, or if she can love without full free will anymore than she can be hexed without a soul, but Sam, it sure walks and talks like love from where I'm standing."

"But is it, really?" Sam was focused out the windshield again.

"Does it matter?"

Sam got out of the car. Subject closed with a bang. Or at least that's what the car door sounded like to Dean. He closed his with the softest of clicks.

June met Dean at the door with a foam cup about half the size of a thermos. "You look like shit. Smell like it too," she informed him brightly.

"It's only for the coffee that I do not slay you now," he grumbled, and made his way to the shower.


	4. Chapter 4

June snagged Dean's pork-chop bone before he got his breakfast remains cleared away.

The crunching noise as she began to eat it was like fingernails on a chalkboard.

"Do you have to do that?" Dean gave her a scowl.

"Yes. I do." _crunchcrunchcrunch. _

Dean pulled out the big guns. He reached over and touched Sam. Sam reached over without looking and absently tugged the bone out of June's hand.

"But y'all throw away the fun parts!" she whinged.

"Save it for later," Sam dropped the bone onto a napkin.

"Ok, now that we're all fed, clothed and within sight of our right minds- how're we gonna go into this place?" Dean asked.

"I'll go in on my own, and you'll go in with your guide-dog June."

"Why do I have to be stuck with Astro?"

"I want to stay with you, and why do I have to be in fur?" June protested at the same time.

"Because men and women are segregated in this hospital, and all the attacks have been on males. The only way you'll be allowed to stay with either of us is if you're a service dog," Sam said to her and then looked at Dean.

"Pairing you is tactical. She and I are aware of each other's physical and emotional states all the time, regardless of the distance between us. I can only get a read on your states when we touch. June can act as a panic button for both of us."

Dean leaned back, considered that logic. He glanced over at June, who had her arms crossed over her chest and a sullen expression on her face. "I'm not crazy about the idea, but I see your point," he nodded to Sam.

Sam shrugged. "Considering how you treat your liver, I'm not crazy about loaning you my spleen, but unless you can think of something better?"

"You two are so weird," June muttered and pulled Sam's laptop over. "Have you got a guide dog harness ordered yet, honey?"

Sam shook his head. "Go ahead and find one, next-day delivery if you can get it."

"Hold on a minute." Dean reached over and closed the laptop. June jerked her fingers out just in time and then gave him one.

He could care less. "We need to think this whole blind-man deal through. I can hardly do an investigation if I have to pretend I can't see a damn thing."

Sam cocked an eyebrow and waited for his hung-over brain to catch up.

"Oh... right. If you can't see, nobody bothers to hide anything, and most bullies see a blind man as easy pickin's. Which also means, Sasquatch, this thing's gonna go wide around you at all times."

"Not if I'm a paraplegic," Sam shrugged.

Dean gave him a wry grin. "Ok, goin' in with some kick-ass Terminator shades and your furry spleen attached to my wrist doesn't sound like the worst end of the deal all of a sudden."

"Note that he puts a pair of sunglasses above me on his priority list, please," June muttered. "You got your chair lined up?"

"Already taken care of."

Her phone started ringing. Dean looked over at her, curious, as she dug it out of her pocket. As far as he could recall, she hadn't gotten a call from anyone but him or Sam the whole time she'd been with them.

She answered with a broad smile and a string of noise that was a cross between a barking dog and a Wookie coughing up a hair-ball. "Hold on, let me put you on speaker, Jim," she finished in Human.

"Good morning, Hunter Joshua, Hunter Caleb," Jim's voice greeted them. He didn't sound hung-over, either.

"Sam and Dean will do just fine," Dean answered. That reverential crap rubbed him in all the wrong places.

"'Morning, Jim. What do you have for us?" Sam added.

"I've spoken with the Pack Leader of Memphis Secondary. She has a new member who's a psychiatrist with admitting privileges to Tri-County, Dr. Beverly Hayes. I called the doctor this morning and she's honored to assist you in any way she can. She can supply you with the paperwork and diagnoses you need to get admitted immediately, and more importantly, get you back out when you want to leave. Would you like her number?"

"Yes, please." Sam pulled his pad and pen around.

"Well, this'll make things easier," Dean mumbled under his breath and went to refill his cup.

"See, smart-ass, I'm not strictly decorative," June grinned at him.

"Glad to hear it, Bingo, 'cause you make a butt-ugly hood ornament."

-oOo-

"I'm sorry I can't get both of you in on the same day," Dr. Hayes told them when they met with her later that afternoon at her home. "There's only one bed available in the minimum-security men's ward."

"How soon will another one open up?" Dean asked. 'Don't separate' was one of their oldest rules. They'd had that drummed into them before Big Bird taught them ABC and 1,2,3. Heck, forget hunting, there wouldn't be a horror movie with a run-time longer than five minutes if the idiots didn't always split up.

"Not long," she assured him. "I have a patient due for discharge day after tomorrow. There are some issues with his after-care that won't be resolved till then."

"Either of us can handle thirty-six hours on our own," Sam assured her. June fidgeted in her chair but kept her mouth shut. Dean was pretty sure that meant Sam would insist being the one to go Lone Avenger.

"I'm sure you can," she nodded. "From what I've been able to determine, this entity seems to take at least a day to size up a new admission. You shouldn't be attacked tonight."

She handed Sam a pair of file folders. "After our discussion, I took the liberty of using a bit of creative license on your profiles and diagnoses. Almost everything is negotiable, but this is what I thought would work best, considering the information you gave me and some doctor's intuition."

Sam scanned them both and handed one to Dean. Sam's papers were on the left, his on the right. She'd tagged Sam with depressive disorder complicated by post-traumatic stress and a hint of suicidal ideation. No big surprise there, it was pretty much what Sam had ordered off the menu as they'd talked. He glanced over his then, and looked up with lifted eyebrows. "Schizophreniform disorder with persecutory paranoia and religious psychosis. Could you translate that out of the Latin, please?"

Dr. Hayes gave him a smile that made her cool professional demeanor melt right away. "It means you're high-functioning borderline psychotic, everybody's out to get you, and you're on a mission from God."

"And that makes me nuts? Doc, that's any given day of the week for us."

"True," she nodded with a chuckle. "Honestly, if Hounds or Hunters walked into a mental health facility and told the honest truth about their lives, they'd never walk out again. I did my best to put a spin on our reality that would allow for a standard discharge at will. I assume you'd rather not have to deal with being escaped mental patients any time you might pass through west Tennessee."

"Always helpful, thanks," Sam smiled with a nod.

"Yeah, it'll be almost weird to be able to come back through without duckin' the law," Dean grinned.

-oOo-

They leaned against the car trunk, giving June time to have some girl talk in Dog with Dr. Hayes. Damn, but it was still hard to wrap his head around the idea that to these guys, the goofy little mook was considered somewhere between the Virgin Mary and Madonna.

"Dean?"

"Huh?" He glanced over at Sam. From the look on Sam's face, he suddenly wondered if that was the first time he'd said his name.

"You're off your game. What's up?"

"What? Nothing, I'm fine."

"No, you're not. At first I thought it was the hang-over, but that should have worn off by now. You've been a half-step behind all day, and you were a thousand miles away just now. What's eatin' you?"

"Just... Later."

"We don't have later."

Dean looked away to where the doc and June were yakking like best friends in the junior high lunch room.

"You were all over my case this morning because you think I've been acting off, and now when I call you on the same thing, you go all stone-faced? Not gonna fly, Dean."

Dean took a deep breath. "It's just... you're suddenly Our High Holy Leader and it's thrown me."

Honesty obviously threw Sam, because he looked startled. "It's what they expect me to be." He jerked his head towards the doctor. "An act, that's all."

"Even with this case, though."

"Yeah, because we're working with the Hounds..." Sam's eyebrows pulled together. "You want to call the shots on this one, I'm willing. You know I am- you always have, all our lives."

"No, no, it's good, it's fine, it's... it's just a little weird, that's all."

"You sure?" Sam reached out to touch, but drew his hand back. "If you want to go in with June today, I'll wait till the other bed opens up. It doesn't make that much difference."

"Nah, we need to practice doing the blind-man's waltz."

"You're ok with why I want to do it this way, right?"

"I'm not that out of it," Dean snapped.

"You just don't like it," Sam fired back.

"Honestly? I'd probably planned about the same set-up."

"Then what is your problem today?"

"I'm not used to ridin' shot-gun for a messiah figure. Just... give me a little time to adjust to the different view, ok?"

"Ok." Sam didn't look convinced. "As long at that's all it is."

"It is. Cross my heart and pull my finger," he intoned with a smirk and held his hand out to Sam.

Sam shook his head with half a laugh and dodged his grab. "Jerk."

"Bitch."


	5. Chapter 5

"What are you doing?" Dean turned in the seat to frown at June.

She stopped, her hand still on the door. "Uh... getting in the car. Is that not allowed when Sam's not present?"

He gestured to the front.

"That's Sam's place," she protested.

"Sam's not here, Miss Daisy and I'm not your chauffeur."

"Wow, he hasn't been gone five minutes and you're already acting like you're on your period."

"Do you want to walk, bitch?"

"If you're gonna be this hateful, yeah." There was no teasing in her voice. In fact, she sounded hurt. She got out and slammed the door, then stalked down the sidewalk, stubby nose in the air.

He paced her. "Get in."

She strode on faster. He accelerated. "Don't make me call Sam."

"Fuck. You. Winchester."

She turned the corner. He cheated a yellow and did the same.

"Look, I'm sorry, ok? Get in."

She studied him through slitted eyes, then got into the passenger side. She wouldn't look at him. "I do have feelings, y'know."

"Yeah. You should do something about that."

She shot him a scorching look and he gave her his most charming little-bad-boy grin.

"You're such a jerk." Her expression softened all the same.

"But strangely loveable, right?"

"No, it's your cute ass that lets you get away with runnin' that smart mouth. You're still a jerk."

"And you, m'dear, will always be a bitch." He grinned wider and winked at her.

She barked at him, and laughed when he flinched.

-oOo-

_**Tri-County Mental Health and Development Center**_

Sleeping in a strange bed had never been a problem. All he had ever known were strange beds. It was the noise that kept him from sleeping, thunder and the sporadic outbursts of two dozen troubled souls in the darkest part of the night. Not that there was much darkness either, his window strobing with almost constant lightning from the violent storm passing outside. Sam dropped his arm over his eyes and tried once more for sleep before his next-door neighbor Carl started arguing with the voices again.

When the first shriek rang out, Sam jolted upright in bed. That wasn't a human scream. The next one was. A desperate, agonized screech of raw terror. Sam looked out the window set into the door of his room. No one was in the hallway.

He pushed the lever, his door clicked open, the lock disabled. Sam ran to his argumentative neighbor's door. He could see the man writhing on the floor, blood spurting in a pulsing arterial stream from his arm.

Something was shaking him savagely, literally ripping the flesh from his bones. Sam twisted the door lever. The door was locked. Sam yanked his cut-down key-card from the hem of his shirt and swiped the magnetic strip through the lock. When he jerked the door open, something invisible knocked him down with an electric jolt as it escaped into the hall. The room reeked of ozone and blood.

Sam's legs were truly useless now. He dragged himself to the weakening man. "Carl! Carl, it's Sam. Hang on-" He grabbed Carl's shredded arm, his fingers sinking into torn muscle as he put pressure in the ruptured brachial artery. "HELP! We need help in here!" he bellowed.

-oOo-

Something big and furred slammed into him, knocking him back onto broken stones and splintered wood. Its rancid breath washed over his face, scalding hot. He grabbed fur and flesh he couldn't see, his muscles straining to keep the thing's teeth from closing on his throat. "_SAM!_"

Fire sprang up around him. Sharp teeth scraped his throat.

Dean surfaced from the nightmare with his usual gasp and lay there for a moment, taking stock. Alive. Awake. Warm. A storm outside. Something heavy on his chest. Hot, rancid breath washing over his face. His hands buried in coarse fur...

Dean flung himself off the side of the bed and away. Not awake. Still in the nightmare. This time, though, his gun smacked into his palm. His hands shook but at this distance he couldn't miss.

"Dean!" The hell-hound became a woman. "Don't shoot!"

"_J-June?_" He lowered the pistol, his guts rolling over. "Shit, _shit!_ I almost shot you!"

"Yeah, caught that on my own," she said, her voice shaky. She eased off the bed as he laid his pistol on the nightstand. "Care to explain why you nearly plugged me in my sleep?"

He plastered on a grin. "You do have that kind of breath tonight... "

"Sorry, sugar. Garlic pizza'll do that." She reached out to touch him. "Your breath's pretty damn pungent too but it doesn't drive me to acts of homicide. What's going on, really?"

He drew away from her hand before she made contact. "Nothing. Really," he said, his voice coming out sharper than he intended. "Just another nightmare," he added in a softer tone.

Dean moved out of the tight space between the beds. "Why were you bunking with me anyway, Sparky?"

"Hello? Nightmares? You had at least two before midnight. That's why I got in with you, to try to make you feel secure enough to sleep undisturbed."

"Great plan. Circular file it for future reference." He headed for the bathroom. "Sam given you a tug yet?"

"No. But he's having trouble sleeping, too."

"How come?" He leaned against the bathroom door frame and tucked his hands under his arms when he noticed they were still shaking.

"I don't know. I can't read his mind, remember? Only feel what he's feeling. He's very restless, but he's ok. Better that you, that's for sure. He's not having nightmares."

"Turn on the TV and find us a farm report, Hooch. That'll knock us both out before the commercial break." He closed the bathroom door behind him.

"Sugar, I'm not letting you brush this off. Not this time." Her voice came through the door so clear she had to be leaning against it.

"Ever hear of the concept of personal boundaries?"

"Yeah. I think it's bullshit. Dean, you almost _shot_ me. You can deny till you're blue in the face, but whatever you were dreaming about had you in a blind panic. I think you should talk about it, get it out in the open. You know as well as I do, when you drag the monster out from under the bed, it's easier to kill."

"Nothing will kill this one," he muttered under his breath, as he stared down the chicken-shit bastard in the mirror. "Can't gank a memory."

"No, but it can be neutralized," she answered back. "You know how you do that? You talk about it with someone who cares about you."

Damn her ears. For good measure, just damn her, frowsy red head to little popsicle toes.

"Stuff the warm fuzzy Dr. Phil crap. You know I ain't a sharin' and carin' kind of guy."

"Right. So silly of me to forget," she sighed with full-on Southern belle drama. "Must be all this evil estrogen eatin' what itty-bitty brain I have."

"You said it so I don't have to."

A fist or some other bony body part slammed against the door. "This ain't a chick-flick moment we're havin', dickhead! You carryin' this grenade around in your brain is a tactical disadvantage that could get Sam killed!"

He yanked the door open and glared at her. "That's low."

"That's the truth! I don't give a rat's ass if you _feel like_ talkin' or not." She invaded the bathroom and he stood his ground to keep from being bullied backwards right into the tub. "Screw empathy if that's what it takes to keep both your nuts in the sack. You've got a trip-wire in your head that makes you a fuckin' booby-trap, Dean. What if it's Sam you aim that pistol at before you're awake next time? What sets you off is vital intel I need to keep both you and Sam breathin'. Tell me what I need to know now, and we'll work on gettin' past your whacked-out psycho issues later."

"Fine," he spat. "Here's the intel – Piss-Eyes got Sam killed. He died in my arms and I couldn't do a damn thing to help him. I cut a cross-roads deal to bring him back. A year later to the minute, a hellhound ripped my guts out while Sam was five feet away, pinned to the wall like a bug! I came to strung up on meat-hooks right in the center of Hell, and I'd still be there if Cas hadn't yanked me out. Ever since then I nearly piss myself when I'm around a dog. A barking dog is what screwed my aim when I damn near blew you away the first time. Satisfied?"

"Fuck no!" she snapped. "But at least now I'm on the same friggin' playin' field!"

"You're on the field but that doesn't mean you're on our team."

"At least I'm not playin' for the other side, asshole." Her eyes slitted. "With a fear like that, how can you stand having me around at all?"

"Think about it, Fang," he snapped.

She did. She thought about it so hard that he could watch the anger slide off her face as sadness and pity took its place. He'd rather have her furious than looking up at him like that.

"You never touched me in fur before tonight," she concluded, very softly.

"Nope, and tried not to look at you too much then either." He pushed past her and she let him go.

She followed, though. Big shock. He figured she wasn't going to leave this the hell alone any time soon.

"Forgive me, please." Her voice sounded sincere. "I wouldn't have climbed in bed with you tonight, if I'd known."

"June...stop. I'm fine. I'm _always_ fine."

"Yeah, you are, sugar." She moved in front of him and looked him straight in the eyes for the length of a single breath. "That's what scares me. That one day you'll have one more thing happen and you won't be able to be _fine_ again for a damn long time."

He stepped around her again to flop onto the bed, his back to her. "You think too high of yourself. You're nowhere near the worst thing I've had to deal with. You don't even make the top ten."

"That breaks my heart."

He turned, cocked to rip her a new one, but there were tears standing in her eyes.

"Dean, I grieve over what happened to you, I do."

He turned his back again. "Don't waste any sympathy. I brought it all on myself."

"Maybe you did. I sure as shit don't have any way of knowin'. Y'all don't tell me anything. All I know I've had to piece together from things you've let drop when you forget I'm listening. Sam won't even let me read that damn journal. I feel like I'm wanderin' around a mine-field in the dark, prayin' not to set somethin' off like this phobia."

"Then grab a friggin' clue, Nipper," he snapped. "We don't want you nosing into our past for damn good reason."

"Why?" Her voice was gentle. "Do you think I won't understand? That I'll judge you? Betray you?

"We don't need your understanding or your judgment," he gritted. "And if you so much as think about turnin' against Sam, you'll never have another thought in what used to be your head."

She sighed. "Dean, the last person on the planet who needs that threat is me. But I'm also the last person who'll hold that against you. Shit, sugar, I'm the last person who'll hold anything against you, no matter what it is, short of hurting Sam. If you're ashamed to talk to me about your past, so be it. Doesn't mean a pinch of shit against how I look at you, my respect for you or how high I value your life."

"Easy to say when you don't have all the facts," he muttered.

"And who's fault is that?" She blurted a frustrated noise. "Look- I'm not made to be your judge, Dean. I'm made to be your loyal friggin' guard dog and that's all. I need to know your weak spots to shield them with my flesh and bone, but I'll never bite you in 'em- and that's a promise you can believe in."

He sat up and studied her. Words were easy to spew. She held his gaze, but her expression was soft, not challenging. He sighed. "Okay. Noted. Can we move on now?"

"Moving on," she nodded. "And going to bed."

"Alone," he added as he pulled the sheet up around his ears.

"Alone," she echoed, her voice tiny. Bedcovers rustled as she got into the other bed.


	6. Chapter 6

The shriek that blasted him awake and upright wasn't human. He grabbed for his pistol before lightning lit up the room like double-strength sun and he saw June kneeling in bed, rigid and trembling, pupils blown wide. His pistol clattered back onto the nightstand.

He grabbed her shoulders. "It's Sam?"

"Yes!" she gasped, and shuddered in his hold.

He 'listened' to the low hum at the back of his mind, but couldn't make sense of the second-hand internal tangle he was picking up. None of it felt positive. Dean dropped onto the mattress, his grip tightening on June's shoulders. "What?"

"Shhh!" She laid a hand on his chest, and turned her face towards the window, her expression strained as if listening to something she couldn't hear and watching something she couldn't see. "He's angry. His legs hurt, it felt like he got shocked. But his anxiety isn't about that, I don't think."

"Is he in danger?"

"I don't know! He feels like he does when something jumps him." She relaxed so abruptly, he was sure it was only his grip keeping her upright. "He's ok. He just sent me this massive wave of reassurance. He's not injured, he's in some pain still but its fading now."

"So the slasher paid him a visit?" Dean realized he was crushing her shoulders and peeled his fingers away. Livid streaks bloomed on her skin. That was gonna leave a mark.

"Yeah, that'd be my guess." She wilted.

Dean rose on weak knees and reached for his phone. He dialed Dr. Hayes. "We've had an incident."

-oOo-

"I didn't get to him in time," Sam said, his voice dull. "Carl's probably going to lose his arm. They aren't even sure he'll make it through surgery."

Sam's voice over the phone wasn't half as miserable as what Dean was picking up directly. He glanced at June and it was clear she was feeling Sam's guilt and distress in high-def.

"Sam, it's not your fault," he told him, trying to sound firm but not harsh. "You didn't sic that damn monster on him. If it wasn't for you, that man would have bled out before anyone got down to his room."

"But-"

"But nothin', honey," June interrupted Sam, leaning in close to Dean's phone. "You gave Carl a chance to pull through. He'd be a corpse if you hadn't gotten there when you did."

"I know you, Sam. I know your reaction time," Dean added. "Nobody could have moved faster."

Sam's sigh crackled through the speaker, but at least he didn't argue. "We're not leaving until this thing is dead."

"No argument here," Dean agreed.

"It's not going to hurt anyone else," June added, a savage edge to her voice. "We won't let it have the chance."

-oOo-

After talking to Sam, they went back to bed but Dean was too keyed up to sleep. Every time he changed position, he saw June lift her head, checking on him. He figured she got little to no sleep either, which meant Sam probably stared at the ceiling till daylight, too.

A sleepless night didn't count for much with Dean. He had a sleep debt built up that rivaled the national deficit anyway, so what was one more night? Suck down the caffeine and keep going.

Bright side was, June didn't bounce out of bed with her normal infuriating glee. She cut him a wide berth as she moved through the room, her eyes shadowed and droopy. He took pity enough to hand her a cup when she came out of the bathroom.

She drank it like she'd just stumbled in off the Sahara, then tossed the cup at the trash. "So, we gonna do this guide-dog schtick or are we gonna pull the plug? No shame in that, sugar. You're no good to anybody if you can't be hundred-percent in there. I don't want to put you at that risk and I know Sam wouldn't either."

"We're gonna do this. I'm gonna get used to you in fur and we're gonna go in there and we're gonna cover Sam's ass like we always do."

"Focus on that, on Sam." She moved away a few feet. "And, I know you know this, so don't roll those big blood-shot green eyes at me- but you need to burn this into your brain. I'm the same person right here, right now-" Her voice deepened, coarsened and slurred but scarcely missed a beat when her body suddenly compacted into canine form. "—As I am now. Still June. Still think ya got a cute ass and a smart mouth to go with it."

He worked up about half a smile for that. She edged closer, to within arm's length, and his heart sped up again. Nothing to even half smile about then.

"No time like the present, I hear." He squatted and slowly reached for her. "But I'm pretty sure that's crap."

After two false starts, his fingertips brushed her flank. She sat stock-still. He took a deep breath and stretched forward until his entire hand was touching her spine and hip.

June's breath sighed out, but only her tail moved, thumping against the matted carpet.

The motion made him freeze, but he forced himself to lift his hand and lay it on the rounded crown of her head. Then, real slow, he stroked it down her back. Petting. He wondered if she could feel his hand trembling.

Her eyes half closed, her ears flopped limply east and west and the tip of her tongue peeked out. He wondered if she was deliberately trying to make herself look as dorky as possible.

"Goofball," he teased, his voice rough and trembling.

Her tongue slid out farther, and a whisper of breathy canine laughter seeped out of her muzzle.

"Think you can guide me, Muttley?"

Human blue eyes opened in her canine face and rolled to meet his. "'Course I can, doofus. I'm not gonna walk you into a pole or anything."

"Harness?"

"Hang on..."

Fur melted into skin under his hand, and he couldn't help but jerk away from the weird sensation.

She stood up without commenting and went to pull it out of the closet. "I can put it on ok, but you'll have to tug it around into proper adjustment when I'm in fur again." She buckled the collar around her neck, and the handled harness around her body. "Ready?"

He nodded.

She was suddenly on paws again, and crept up to him all but sliding on her belly, doing everything she could to appear utterly submissive and docile.

He took a moment to scratch her ears before he settled the harness into place and smoothed her fur underneath. "Relax. Freakout's officially over. My phobia's crammed back into its box."

"Good. Let's keep it in there." Her tongue flicked over his wrist then she shook herself, making the tags on her collar jingle.

He slipped on the wraparound sunglasses. "Might as well try this out."

"You remember you're supposed to be blind. No checkin' out women."

"Killjoy."

"Maybe we can get something to eat?" she suggested, tail wagging. "Guide dogs can go anywhere."

"Okay. I'm hungry." He pulled out his keys.

"If you ever aren't, I'll worry 'bout ya. Wait a minute- " June stopped short and backed herself against his shins just as a real guide dog would do to halt its master in his tracks. "Gotta call a taxi. You're blind, remember? Can't drive!"

He growled and dropped the car keys back into his pocket. "Trouble is, with these on, I'm almost blind for real. How about Dover's? It's only two blocks."

"All right. That'll be good practice. Remember the commands? I'm not supposed to move unless you say."

He found the door handle. "All right, June. Forward."

With only a few bobbles, they made their way down the street to the restaurant. She paused in front of the door. He noticed she swallowed hard. His gut tightened. "What is it?"

"Smells real good!" she whispered back.

"Yeah, it does." He chuckled, and opened the door. "June, forward."

"Welcome to Dover's," a woman he could just barely make out to be blonde said as she walked to him. "I'm sorry, but we don't allow do- oh!" That odd note in her voice told him that she'd registered the harness and had worked out just why there was a dog with him.

"Morning," he smiled at her, careful to turn his face towards her left ear, not straight into her eyes. "Got a table for me and my friend?"

"Uh...yeah, we have a few open...would...how do I get you there?" At least she asked before grabbing.

"Just put your hand on my arm and walk beside me," he told her. "And, uh, let me know if I'm about to trip over a kid or something?"

"I can manage that." She laid her hand in his left sleeve. "This way, then, sir."

-oOo-

When they got back to the motel room, Dean pulled the glasses off with a sigh of relief. "Let me say to whoever may be listening- thank you that was only a dress-rehearsal."

"Amen to that, but as a trial run for our covers, I'd say it was a success," June grinned as she stood up. "And thanks for sharing your coffee- but fair warning, I'm gonna need more than a saucer-full."

He flipped her the packet of cheap brew that lay beside the coffee maker. One of the advantages to being in a halfway decent motel.

"Ah, the sacrifices I make for you two," she sighed with extravagant martyrdom, then started up the maker.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Tri-County Mental Health and Development Center**_

"I appreciate you taking the time to give me the grand tour, Tammi," Dean smiled at the shadowy figure slightly ahead of him. "It helps me build a map of the place in my head."

"Oh, it's my pleasure," she answered, then gave a little lilting laugh. "This is way more fun than what I'm usually doing about this time of the day, trust me."

She paused and lifted his hand to lay it on a doorway plaque. "The dining room. Duh, as if you can't read, huh? How many times have I done that so far?"

Dean brushed his fingers over the Braille bumps and chuckled. "That's ok. June can't read, but you know 'dining room,' huh girl?"

June licked her chops with an audible smack. She leaned forward against the harness to noisily snuffle along the threshold. Dean gave her the obligatory correcting tug and an inward grin. She was such a ham, playing the adorable pooch bit to the hilt.

Tammi giggled. "The door opens inward, but it's locked right now. Ok- the group therapy rooms are down this way and on the right. Uh, not sure how many steps till the turn, sorry."

"I'll count. It's almost an obsession by now," he smiled.

"Oh, no it isn't," she answered, a smile he couldn't make out through his dark glasses clear in her voice. "A habit's only an obsession if it doesn't serve a useful purpose. Well, and if you can't stop when you want to. Anyway, here we go..."

Four strides on, an icy breeze pierced him and his skin drew up in goosebumps. June shook her head, making her collar rattle, so she felt it too. It was the sixth cold spot they'd walked through so far. Or, this time, had walked through them. This place had a serious HVAC problem or it really was as haunted as it was said to be.

"Is it always this cold in here?" he asked.

Tammi paused, and when she spoke, there was no smile in her voice. "Yeah, in spots."

"Always the same spots?"

"This is one of the oldest buildings. It's drafty. I wear a sweater." He could hear tension in her voice.

"I heard rumors, before I came," he ventured. "About weird stuff going on."

"Mr. Halen, forgive me, but this _is_ a mental health facility. A lot of our patients have a shaky grasp on reality. I suggest you don't put much weight on any rumors you might hear."

"I've heard patients are being hurt, on this floor. Is that all rumor too?"

"Again," she said, her voice hardened. "This is a mental health facility. Some of our patients self-injure as well as confabulate. That's part of the reason they're here."

She touched his arm and spoke with professional perkiness again. "Ok. The next two doors, right and left, are group therapy rooms. That's as far as you'll need to go down this hallway. Let's see how well you've drawn your mental map. Can you get us back to the day room?"

-oOo-

Tammi left him at a table in a comfortable patch of sun, a Braille magazine he couldn't read in front of him. A familiar obstruction blocked the light as Sam rolled himself up to the opposite side of the table. He felt June lean forward, probably against Sam's shins. She gave a sigh of unmistakable relief.

"Hi, I'm Shawn Phillips. I don't think we've met," Sam said.

Dean reached across the table and Sam gripped his hand. An inconspicuous handshake that untied knots in his gut wound tight since before daylight. "Alex Halen, I checked in today. Good to meet you, Shawn."

"Is it ok if I pet your dog, Alex?"

"Hang on a sec. June, free dog," he said, for appearance's sake. "Now it is. She's off the clock."

Sam chuckled and reached down as June all but crawled up into his lap. "Run across anything interesting on your tour?" he asked them both very softly as he ruffled June's ears.

"Half a dozen cold spots," Dean answered.

June pushed herself up on the wheelchair to lick Sam's cheek. "Two of 'em were apparitions," she told him in a croaky whisper Dean had to strain to catch.

"I didn't see anything," he replied to Sam's quick eyebrow question.

"Third spot, probably residual," she mumbled. "Nurse in long dress and apron, didn't react to us as we passed. Sixth spot, interactive at the least. Man in antique suit, wasn't happy to see me. Shook his finger at Dean then marched right through the middle of us."

Dean nodded. "I felt that. Tammi, that aide who showed me around? I got the impression she knows more about what's going on than she'll admit. She did admit to feeling the cold spots, brushed 'em off as drafts of course."

"She smelled real nervous when you questioned her. Little scared, too."

"Any sign of what attacked last night?" Sam asked.

They both shook their heads. "I snuck a look through the window when we passed two-eleven. Clean and empty," Dean told him.

"No unusual smells except stale blood and fear," June added.

"Damn," Sam breathed. "The thing isn't adding up for me. Any demon-sign?"

June shook her head.

"This is a huge place," Dean added. "If it's demonic, it could be hiding out anywhere. In anybody."

Sam glanced away. Dean tilted his head just enough to follow Sam's gaze, to where a man paced in a tight circle a few yards away, muttering an emotional string of numbers as if to convince some invisible colleague of a mathematical proof.

"And it's going to be very difficult to separate signal from noise," Sam said.

"So, we stick around and hope the crazy isn't catching."

"Mr. Phillips? It's time for your meeting with Dr. Hayes," an orderly announced as he approached their table.

"Ok." Sam answered in a flat voice, his shoulders slumped as he backed his chair away from the table. "Later, Alex."

"See ya later," Dean called after him. He knew his 'appointment' would be next. "You up for another walk, June?"

"Unauthorized tour?" she muttered as she slipped out from under the table.

"Oh yeah."

-oOo-

"Sam told me you've encountered some of our unregistered residents?" Dr. Hayes asked after he'd settled into one of the chairs in front of her desk. June stretched out beside him like the Sphinx.

"We felt six on this floor alone, but June saw only two of them," he nodded, hooking his shades into the vee of his t-shirt.

"A nurse in a nineteenth-century uniform," June elaborated. "A residual, I'm almost certain. The other was interactive, maybe vengeful. He doesn't approve of dogs in his hospital, apparently. Looked late nineteenth, early-twentieth century."

Dr. Hayes reached over to her bookcase and pulled out an oversized, slim book. She flipped through and then turned it towards them. "Anyone look familiar?"

June stood up and drew the book closer. "Him," she pointed. "Dr. Asa Clark."

"The first director," Dr. Hayes supplied. "It makes sense. This is the original administration building, and he had his office on this floor."

Dean studied the man's portrait, all bushy eyebrows and walrus-mustache. "Looks like a real hard-ass."

"Actually, I've read he was quite a humanitarian and very progressive in patient care," Dr. Hayes commented.

"Which probably means he was big on ice-baths and lobotomies instead of leeches and anal purgatives," Dean shot back.

"Considering the times?" the doctor sighed, "That's quite likely, much as it pains me to admit." She considered him for a moment while June leafed through the book. "You don't have a high opinion of the mental health profession, do you?"

"It's ok if you're someone who needs it," he shrugged.

"And what sort of person would that be?" she asked, her tone conversational.

"Someone who can't handle what life's tossed at 'em."

"And you can, all the time."

He shrugged, "Doin' alright so far. You know how ol' Doc Clark checked out?"

"Interesting diversion tactic, Dean. But yes, back to the business at hand." She turned to her computer, typed in a search phrase. "Died in harness. They found him slumped over his desk, a few days before his seventy-third birthday. In 1923."

Dean whistled. "Eighty-six years of unpaid overtime is some serious dedication. Man with that strong a will goes vengeful, slicing and dicing a few patients could be just a warm-up."

"But if he really was a good doctor," June protested, looking up from the book, "Why would he turn violent at this late date?"

"Every earth-bound ghost loses its grip eventually," he shrugged. "Some go 'round the bend later than others, but it always happens."

"I can't find the residual." June handed the book back. "She doesn't really matter anyway, she's on her way out. Her face has almost faded away."

"So scratch her off the suspect list, and from Sam's description, Doc Clark too. Vengefuls don't tend to be that creative, they keep their original forms if they visibly manifest at all," Dean added.

"So even though this... entity... doesn't seem to be Dr. Clark, we could be dealing with him turning vengeful at some point?" Dr. Hayes sighed.

"I'd say it's inevitable. Salt and burn now, save problems later," Dean shrugged.

"I'll enter that into my appointment calendar," Dr. Hayes said with a wry little smile. "It will be a first for me. I'm used to dealing with more tangible threats."

"Don't beat yourself up. We haven't tangled with anything like this one, either. Sam got any theories?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not. Sam and the victims describe the sounds the beast makes as dog-like, but nobody's seen it so that's strictly conjecture and may be matrixing on our part. The electrical-type shock it gave to your brother is especially puzzling. It doesn't seem to fit any known entity we were able to think of."

"There's a tell," Dean stated, confident of that. "There always is. Usually, it's something that links all the victims. You got their files pulled together?"

"Of course." Dr. Hayes spread them across her desk and stood. "My next patient is scheduled in half an hour, but if you need more time I can postpone them."

"Thanks, Doc. Shouldn't take that long." Dean rose and went behind her desk. Dr. Hayes gathered the contents of her in-box and moved to the sofa across the room. June went around to perch herself on the corner of the desk beside him and picked up one of the patient files. They both started started reading and making notes.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean couldn't say the next two days were quiet, but they were peaceful. Nobody bled, no demons showed up, and the only effect of the ghosts on the place was to augment the air conditioning.

"You think this thing's done?" he asked Sam as Dr. Hayes' office door closed behind their burly escort.

"Let's give it a few more days," Sam said. "The longest stretch between attacks has been a week."

Dr. Hayes leaned her elbows on her desk. "I hope you two have come up with some uniting factor between these attacks. I've combed over them till my eyes cross and I haven't found anything more convincing than the blazing obvious- they're all male patients in the minimum-security ward."

Sam shook his head. "I've got nothing, sorry."

"As far as I can tell from asking around, some of the patients didn't even know one another," Dean added. "No group together, no mutual doctors..."

"No links in their case histories that I can see, either," June sighed. "It's not like they're all here because they committed some similar offense. None of them are criminals, they're simply ill. They don't even have similar diagnoses."

"So we're back to lore," Dr. Hayes leaned back and rolled an ink pen through her fingers. "Are you sure this is a canidoid we're dealing with?"

"At first I wasn't certain, but something kept nagging at me," Sam answered. "It hit me what it was, this morning. The thing left behind the scent of ozone, but when it went by me, its body smelled like a dirty, wet dog."

June and the doctor looked at each other with raised brows. "That's certainly significant," Dr. Hayes murmured.

"Nothing else smells like a wet dog but a wet dog," June nodded.

"Which means that thing came in from outside," Dean added, "Because it was pouring rain that night."

"Or it came through the showers," June countered.

"Then it would stink like a clean wet dog," Dean mused, "Like you did this morning."

"At least I showered."

"No, I washed you while_ I_ showered. There's a difference, Triumph. And now I do need intensive therapy. Hope that squeaky clean fur is worth it to ya."

"This is a pattern between them, isn't it?" Dr. Hayes remarked to Sam.

"You get used to it." He snapped his fingers in front of Dean's face. "Focus?"

"I'm focused," Dean scowled. "Caninoid entity, smelly and probably wet. Nasty attitude and at least five sharp ends. Gives off ozone and packs a wallop like an electric eel."

"None of which matches up with any dog-like entity I've ever heard of," Dr. Hayes put in.

"If this thing has shown up before, someone, somewhere, had to have made note of it," Sam said and pulled one of the stacks of books on her couch over into his lap.

"If the coward would show itself again, we could gank it. If it's tangible enough to stink, it's tangible enough to die," June growled.

-oOo-

Dean put his sunglasses back on when the orderly knocked at the door to take them back to the ward. "I've worn these friggin' things so long I squint like a bat when I take them off."

"I'm not going to mention my side-effects," Sam groused, indulging in a spine-crackling stretch before he sat back down in his wheelchair. "But I'll trade you for your photosensitivity any time."

"No deal," Dean grinned. "But maybe June will kiss it and make it better."

"No, but I'll bite you so you'll both have sore asses," she muttered.

"I do offer family therapy," Dr. Hayes chuckled. "Keep that in mind, when you finish this hunt." She opened the door and spoke to the orderly waiting outside at a discreet distance. "Thank you, Brian. They're both ready to go back to the ward."

"Always happy to be the honor guard," Brian grinned with unintended irony. "Oh, wait, Dr. Hayes. I brought something for June. Is that ok?"

"Ask her partner," the doctor smiled.

Brian pulled out a rawhide chew as thick as a good cigar. "I got her a little treat, Mr. Halen. I hope you don't mind?"

Dean held out his hand. "That's nice of you, Brian. I have to give it to her, though."

"No problem, I understand," the amiable man nodded, and laid the twisted stick of hide into Dean's palm.

"Here ya go girl," Dean crooned as he held it down in the vicinity of June's muzzle. She took it delicately from his fingers and he tried his best for a smile instead of a smirk.

"Say thank you to Brian," he prompted.

June sat on her haunches and offered her paw. Brian solemnly shook it and then they headed up the hall, that rawhide stick jutting out of the side of June's jaw. Made her look like one of those bulldog toughs in an old cartoon.

Too damn bad he had to pretend he couldn't see that.

-oOo-

Three hours later, it didn't seem quite so amusing. "I know you're doing this to be nauseating."

June smiled up at him with all innocence from where she sat cross legged on her sleeping pillow, pulled into the corner behind the door to hide from passers-by in the hallway. "For a Hunter, you sure have a weak stomach," she slurred around the now soggy end of the chew. She pulled it out and waved the partially limp twist at him. "For your information, sweet-cheeks, this is darn tasty. Want some?"

"Nah, I'm good. I got my quota of beef byproducts at dinner." He was glad to have the papers to focus on. Too bad they did nothing to filter out the squelchy noises she made as she sucked and gnawed on the thing.

The more he tried not to listen, the louder the semi-obscene noises seemed to get. "How the hell does Sam stand you?" he burst out.

She blinked at him. "Sam's my bonded Hunter."

"Welcome to Non Sequitur Theater," he muttered. "Tonight's presentation, 'A Boy and His Dog'... I didn't ask what he was to you, Petey, I asked why you don't drive him friggin' nuts too."

She laid the chew aside. "'Sam's my bonded Hunter' equals 'Sam groks me,' which is the sum total of why I don't drive him friggin' nuts."

"Heinlein wrote fiction, you do realize that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Would it have made more sense to say-? " She horked up a guttural burst of Hound. "Because that's more accurate, but I know you're sadly monolingual."

"Whatever hack-wheeze-double phlegm means, it's not what Sam says about you."

She suddenly looked apprehensive. "What does he say about me?"

Ok, not giving in to the temptation to tell her a devastating lie had to put some major marks on the positive side of his post-life ledger. Whoever kept the score, he hoped they were paying attention.

"Sam says he's not sure you really love him. He's not sure you even can." Damn. Those marks were probably getting scratched through before the ink dried, because obviously the truth could be as leveling as a lie.

She glanced, horrified and hurt, in the exact precise military-GPS direction of Sam's room. Time for full-on damage control, before his brother burst through the door. His explanation came out so fast he sounded like an auctioneer.

"He's worried you can't really love him since you don't have full free will. I told him that was bullshit, it doesn't make any difference. You act like you love him and you say you do- so you do, right?"

He couldn't begin to guess at the emotions behind her expression when she looked back at him.

"I despise the human word 'love,'" she sneered. "It's so threadbare and overworked it's all but meaningless. You love Sam, you love your car, you love cheeseburgers, you love to fuck and you think random fucking will someday, somehow, lead to being in-love. Please... define your terms and we can have a meaningful discussion for a change."

"You've used it yourself," he fired back.

"No, I haven't."

"Sure you have! Plenty of times."

"Name one time I've said '_I love_.'" She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head at him with a smirking challenge on her face.

He drew a breath to speak, opened his mouth. Shut it again. "I can't think of an instance off the top of my head, but-"

"But nothing, because I've never used the word for how I feel about anyone, sugar." She shook her head. "Largely because I knew nobody wanted to get into this clarification mess before."

He made himself comfortable against the headboard and laced his hands behind his head. "So, let's get into it now. What, exactly, do you feel for my brother?"

"I all but worship him," she answered softly, but without hesitation. "When I said he was the center of my universe, I wasn't exaggerating. To me, he's lower than the Trinity but higher than the angels. I'm his flesh and his bone now and he's my life-force. What- who- he holds dear, I do too. You say you sold your soul to save him from death. You have no idea how much I envy you for that. I would do the same in a heartbeat, but all I can lay down for him is my life."

Whoa. That sucked all the air out of the room. He shook his head and sat up. "If all that's true- and I'm not arguing with you about it, June- then yeah, that's one whopping case of love. The epic, write songs and poetry about it brand of love. But if you feel that way about him, why haven't you and he," He spread his hands, and interlaced his extended fingers. "Taken the oneness all the way?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Geez, sugar- it really does all come down to genitals for you, huh? Ok, let's see if I can untangle this one for you too. For humans, even for enthusiastic horn-dogs like you, there's always at least some emotional layers to the act of copulation, right? And as best I understand it, a large part of the allure of the human act is that... um... transcendent sense of oneness, of utter intimacy, that partners feel when orgasm is really friggin' fantastic or they're deeply emotionally attached. Am I right?"

"That's what I hear," he nodded.

"Ok, right. Whatever. Sex is none of that for us. We don't write songs about it, or poetry, or spout diatribes against it. We don't even have porn. Because sex is just... fucking. It feels good, it makes babies, and when we're in heat we don't have any choice about it. There's no angel choirs, no emotional fireworks. It just feels fantastic for a few minutes and when we get the urge, we scratch it."

"Sounds as romantic as an orgy."

She shrugged. "Human talking, watch your step. But yeah, from your perspective, I reckon it is. But see, from ours-" She lifted her hands and spread her fingers then interlaced them as he had done. "This is mate-boding, our brand of intimate, romantic love, when we join our lives together to rear pups if we're so blessed."

She closed her interlocked fingers so hard the backs of her hands reddened and her knuckles blanched. "This is Hunter-Hound bonding. It's an intimacy so far beyond sex, even human sex, it should be obscene to mention them in the same breath. Obscenity being another human concept, mind you."

He sat up. "Ok, I'm trying to wrap my head around this. I am. But... why not all the above and a bag of chips? Why not have that bonding and sex? Seems to me it would be like... well, damn near a repeat of what you two felt when you bonded."

She laughed again, and it was a warm stroke of sound, not sarcasm. "Dean, sugar, when I touch Sam, I can feel him feeling me touch him."

He parsed that through his brain. Then he did it again, because _damn!_ "Sooo not seeing a problem there, Kewpie."

She laughed again. "And I am sooo glad I can't read your mind. Sugar, what happens when you bring a transmitter and a receiver, broadcasting on the same frequency, too close together?"

"You get feedback."

"Right. Now imagine that ear-piercing squeal as a full-body experience, right down to every last little cringing mitochondrion."

He winced. "Ouch. That would be a mood-killer."

"Dean Winchester, Master of Understatement, ladies and gentlemen," she drawled.

He faked a bow, then settled back in a slouch again. "So that feed-back thing only happens when you two try to get it on?"

"I haven't emasculated your brother, if that's what you're really asking. If you're asking about anything else, you'll have to take it up with Sam. He doesn't discuss his sex life with me."

Dean grimaced as a whole unwelcome panorama of implications unfolded in his mind. "I can't believe _I'm_ discussing Sam's sex life with you, Gromit."

"You wanna talk about yours instead?" June asked brightly. "I know I teased you but you really smelled luscious when you came in the other mornin'. Jack Daniels, faded Obsession, mingled sweat and-"

"Do you have any _idea_ how disturbing you are?"

June bent over her notes, and stuck that rawhide chew into her mouth again.


	9. Chapter 9

**_WHACK!_**

He jerked all over, grabbed for a gun that wasn't there. "What the-?!"

He could hear June breathing fast. She flicked on the light. "There's nothing in here but us, sugar," she assured him.

"Then what the crap made that noise?"

"Something fell."

"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock Bones. Simply brilliant." They both scanned the room again. He picked up her harness and leash, which had somehow gotten from the foot of his bed to against the door, tangled on the floor.

June let out a low whistle and ran her fingers over the wire-reinforced glass window in it. "It hit so hard it cracked this."

"One of the resident spooks," he shrugged, and tossed it back onto his cot.

"Yeah, but why do this?" June rubbed the crack again.

"Not much lying around loose in here to thr-"

An unearthly shriek drowned him out. He grabbed a thick book, shook out the slim silver-plated stiletto the Doc had smuggled in. June was already on paws, blocking the door half-open, snarling.

They met Sam in the hallway. The same instant they heard harsh panting, clawed paws rattling on the tiles, smelled ozone and wet dog.

June slammed into nothing with a roar that turned into a scream as she went rigid and convulsed.

Sam made a grab to drag her away and the instant his fingertips brushed her fur he yelled out in pain too.

And in that split second, the thing was visible. Bigger than June, smaller than a hell-hound. Almost as ugly. Thick, wiry wet black fur, matted with mud up its legs and past its eyes. Long pointed ears, stiff as horns. Broad muzzle crammed full of shark's teeth. Razor-sharp talons on wide paws. Empty eye sockets that blazed with blue-white light. The stench of filthy dog and mold.

Dean threw his knife at center mass and Sam slammed his into the thing's thick neck.

Thunder shook the building, rain lashed the windows. The big black beast yelped and sprang away, straight at the wall. June regained her feet. A sunburst of scorch flared across the paint. Every light in the hall blew out in a shower of sparks and fine glass shards. June almost smacked herself into the wall right behind the beast.

"Everybody ok?" Dean blurted.

Sam nodded, shaking a blistered hand. June nodded and just shook. They all heard rushing human footsteps. "Rooms!" Sam urged, and they dove for cover and plausible deniability.

-oOo-

Crullers, coffee and netbooks all round. Dean went to the coffee pot on Doc Hayes' credenza and topped off his mug. "So we now know for sure it's some kind of dog, it can tazer anything that touches it, and it can dematerialize with a discharge of that electrical energy."

"Also, silver doesn't seem to faze it in the least," Sam added.

"And it's wounded, so now it's more dangerous than it was before," June put in.

"If it's wounded," Sam countered.

"It's got two knives skewering it to the hilt. I imagine that stings," Dean said.

They all applied themselves to their respective screens. "All manner of black dogs," Doc murmured, and rubbed her eyes. "But all in the UK and none of them seem overtly dangerous."

"Mmm, more like harbingers of death than death dealers," June absently agreed.

"Hey, listen to this- supposed to be a true account from the Twenties." Dean scrolled back up and began to read aloud. "'_As they neared the lane, Amy grew agitated and stopped in great fear. She heard the hellhound growl and told her mother that the hound would appear. Maude admonished her. She was being silly. The woman heard nothing. Amy insisted the dog growled like it did before Mrs. Jones died. She saw the dog only before someone died. Amy stopped again and pointed toward the hedge and said it was there. Maude saw nothing, then grabbed her daughter's hand. Once she did, she saw the head of a huge hound emerge from the hedge. The hound stared at them, fangs bared and jaws slavering. The hound went in the direction of their house. As soon as Amy removed her hand from her mother's, Maude could no longer see the phantom, but Amy could..._'"

"Just like our phantom," Sam agreed.

"But that sure ain't no hellhound we stabbed," Dean rumbled, scowling at the screen as he read on. "Neither was the thing Amy saw, the idiots."

"No, but the pieces are clicking together. Here's a connection with electrical energy." Sam read a couple of accounts from the Middle Ages about black hounds appearing in churches during storms.

"Churches that were large, spired granite-stone buildings," Doc commented. "Just like the original buildings here."

"Exactly," Sam nodded. "They killed a couple of people then, but it sounds as though it was from accidental contact rather than deliberate attack. And... '_the scorch marks of the beast's claws can still be seen to this day, infamously imprinted upon the ancient door of the church.'" _

"So we're thinking this thing, and those historical sightings, are some sort of atmospheric phenom?" June drawled, an eyebrow lifted. "Like really bizarre ball-lightning?"

"Holy crap. There's our tell!" Dean blurted.

"What?"

"The link between the cases." He brought up some pages and rapidly scanned down. "Yahtzee." He grinned at them. "The link's not anything about the patients, it's the weather. Every time this thing's showed itself, there's been a kick-ass thunderstorm."

"As in it's causing the weather?" Doc asked. "If it's that powerful, it's a high-ranking demon or an elemental."

"And we are in for a long, bloody battle," Sam nodded with a grimace.

"Nah, I don't think so," Dean frowned, studying the weather records set against the dates and times of the attacks. "Plenty of storms this spring when it hasn't shown up."

"Memphis has at least sixty or seventy a year," the doctor agreed.

"It needs a storm of particular strength or proximity to charge its battery, maybe," Sam put in.

"So, we have a black dog phenom that's storm and electricity related, that can be seen by humans only when we touch our very own dire-hound, and it's not adverse to sinking its teeth into anybody who gets in its way," Dean surmised.

"Any man who gets in its way," June amended.

"Could be coincidence there, Shuck," Dean shrugged.

"No such thing, Dean, only incomplete revelation," she teased.

"Gotcha, mutt!" Sam hissed.

"Huh? What?" Three skulls nearly knocked as they crowded in to share the view of his screen.

"The only one that fits all of those criteria is a spectral hound native to Devon, England, called a yell-hound, or yeth-hound."

"_Yell_-hound?" Dean echoed. "Seriously?"

Sam shot him a glance. "You prefer yeth-hound?"

"Yeth, pleathe."

"A _yeth_-hound is said to be the manifestation of the spirit of an unbaptized infant," Sam went on. "Wandering desolate places in stormy weather, giving a spine-chilling wail before it attacks hapless travelers. And it's murderously vicious."

"It's also said to have no head," June pointed to the screen. "I think we can all agree this one has a big, toothy, fugly one."

"All legends get embellished," Sam shrugged. "I suppose a headless apparition is always more frightening to visualize."

"More than the cranially challenged question, what's the weird-ass vengeful of an English newborn baby doing in an American mental hospital that's only housed adults for most of two centuries?" Dean asked.

"Dammit," Doc pushed back from her keyboard. "I thought I'd be able to answer that for you, but I can't."

"Oh? Do tell."

"Running patient records back. Unfortunately, most of the earlier ones were destroyed by one fire or another. But during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, it wasn't uncommon for female patients to be molested by male patients or staff, in any facility in the world. It's not stretching credulity to think someone may have quietly done away with an inconvenient birth."

"But the nationality doesn't fit," June mused.

"Give me your tired, your poor, your jacked-up monstrosities yearning to feed free...," Dean muttered.

"More to the point than where it came from is why it's here now," Sam interrupted. "Unless an Englishwoman gave birth in here less than a year ago, why is this vengeful only firing up now?"

"It's possible one of the staff could have committed infanticide, of course." The doc sounded distinctly uncomfortable admitting that.

"Or something could have stirred it up, like remodeling will spark off residuals sometimes?" June offered.

"Oh!" The doctor tugged her keyboard closer again. "There was something, before I was hired. I didn't pay much attention at the time. But now? It's glaringly obvious."

She turned her screen around. A back issue of the hospital's newsletter was displayed, showing a large photo of part of the building and one of its Gothic spires caged in scaffolding. "A massive lightning strike cracked the spire from roof to foundation. Almost brought the whole end of the building tumbling down. The hospital had to bring in stone-masons from as far away as Europe to do repairs. Apparently not many contractors build quasi-cathedrals any more."

"When was that part of the building constructed?"

"Umm... " The doctor scrolled down. "1877. The hospital had been open a couple of years by then, but not all the buildings were complete before they went into operation."

The four exchanged uneasy looks. "And I thought the 'toad in the cornerstone' tradition was cruel," Doctor Hayes shuddered.

"So, if we find the bones and put the poor little kid to rest, then the yeth-hound goes poof, right?" Dean said.

Sam leaned back and raked his fingers through his hair, pushing it back. "Maybe. Maybe not. There's exactly zilch on how to gank these things, or any black dog for that matter."

-oOo-

When it rains, it pours. When you want it to rain... Dean resorted to pure superstition by washing and waxing Baby, but even that taunt didn't coax the skies to open. They used their week of unhospitalized freedom to help Dr. Hayes with her first ghost-ganking.

She was so nervous, Dean was worried she might set herself on fire but in the end it went so smoothly they could have sat on the mausoleum steps and had take-out afterwards. Other than that, it was back to hanging around The Gutter and watching the Weather Channel.


	10. Chapter 10

The wide flashlight beam washed over blocks of rough-hewn granite that were the size of foot-lockers. "I'm thinking we need a plan B," Dean said.

Sam glanced at him, then played his tighter beam along the zig-zag line of fresh mortar that joined the new stones to the old. "There's no way we're busting any of these out. Besides, if there were infant bones interred in this wall, they would have been crushed to dust during the repairs."

He tucked his flashlight into his pocket and stepped up with the EMF reader. He waved it over the stones to the extent of his considerable reach. The only time it gave a faint peep was when lightning flickered overhead.

"If we can't find it before this storm rolls in, y'all-" June didn't look at them. She kept scanning the darkness around them, a shotgun holding shells filled with an iron and salt mixture braced for quick fire.

"We can't go marching into a mental hospital waving a shotgun around and shouting about invisible dogs, Farfel." Dean propped a hand against the wall as lightning streaked above them again.

"They'd have us Thorazined and in restraints so fast we'd think lightning did hit us." Sam glanced back at him. "Do you think it's a good idea to be touching a ground-wire in a lightning storm?"

Dean jerked his hand away from the fat copper wire that snaked down the building. They both looked down to where it disappeared into the grass.

"You think?" Dean asked.

"This is new. They had to bury it at least a foot deep, running a good twelve to twenty-four more out from the building," Sam said.

"That's a lot of disturbed ground," Dean nodded.

"It's always been easier to move earth than stones," Sam agreed. He began to pace the probable path of the underground wire, the EMF held low. Less than fifteen feet away from the foundation, it let out a squeal and lit up like a slot machine.

"Go get the shovels," Sam said to June. He squatted down and began pinpointing the area that gave the strongest signal. June exchanged her shotgun for car-keys. As she hurried away, the first rain spattered across their faces.

Dean wondered just how fast June was moving out there, because she was back before Sam had the anomaly gridded off- and she was a little out of breath. Dean winked at her and stepped back with a grin when she tried to hand him a shovel.

"Chivalry's dead," Sam muttered, taking the other one from her and plunging it to the treads with one skilled shove.

"Yup, and he salted and burned the sucker." She forced her blade into the earth opposite his.

Dean kept them covered with light and firearm. By the time they got down a foot past the massive copper wire, they were digging in a small muddy pit that was rapidly filling with rainwater. Sam's shovel scraped metal. He and June went to their knees and scrabbled with bare hands to prise the rusty box out of the earth.

Who knew what its original purpose had been. June held a flashlight as Sam wiped away the caked-on mud and pried off the rusted lid. Lightning made sure they didn't miss what was inside. Three mingled moans rose out of their throats like a minor chord.

"Poor little baby," June whispered, her voice choked. Sam handed her the horrid little make-shift casket and she cradled it like the child was still alive.

"What are we gonna name him?" Dean asked. "That's the whole point of infant baptism, right? To make sure the kid's name is recorded in the big roll-book upstairs?"

"Could be a her," June said, peering in at the delicate bones. "No way to tell."

"What difference does it make?" Sam grumbled.

"Hey, this baby's already monumentally pissed-off. You wanna risk it?" Dean fired back.

"Then pick a unisex name," Sam urged. "Fast."

"Pat?" Dean offered. For some reason, that got him dual eye-rolls.

"Marion?" June ventured.

"Might as well tag the poor kid Sue," Dean scoffed.

"We don't have time for this." Sam wiped rainwater out of his eyes with the back of a muddy hand. "Can you both tolerate Jamie?"

Dean looked at June and she nodded. "Yeah, Jamie works," Dean agreed.

Sam wiped his hands on his jeans, and pulled out a bottle of holy water. He took the baby's box back in one hand. "I baptize thee Jamie, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost."

He poured a few drops over the fragile little skull, then reached in with a gentle finger-tip to trace the cross over the tiny forehead. The instant he touched it, he was on the ground, the box flying out of his hand, the tiny bones flung across the grass.

Blue electrical fire crawled over his body, tracing out the form of the beast that straddled him, jaws straining against Sam's grip to tear out his throat. It all happened in the space of a lightning strike.

Dean fired at the thing. It screeched and vanished in a stink of ozone.

"The bones, June! The bones!" Dean tried to get Sam up, but settled for putting Sam behind him when the beast came at them again. June scrabbled through the dark, human nose almost against the ground, gathering up the tiny fragments, yelping in agony every time the beast's voltage crawled across the wet grass to zap her bare hands and wet-clad knees.

"I got 'em!" she yelled, her shirt pulled up into a makeshift basket.

"BURN 'EM!" He was down to two shells.

"I don't have the fuel!"

Sam yanked her over, almost spilling the bones back out onto the ground. She tipped them back into the box. Sam pulled butane and a lighter from his pockets while June poured out the salt. They both kept their bodies arched over the box, but even then the salt began to dissolve.

"Any time now!" Dean blurted, and gave the thing an upper-cut with the shotgun barrel.

It yelped and vanished again. Dim light, orange light, flared behind him, half-obscured by Sam holding his jacket out over the tiny pyre like macabre wings.

The yeth-hound's screech rang out as the fire blackened the tiny bones. A ball of brilliant, crackling light ran up the ground-wire and shot off the tip of the lightning rod on top of the spire. It vanished into the storm clouds raging above.

Sam dropped onto his butt with a squelchy thud. "That was too damn close."

"You all right?" Dean squatted beside him to catch Sam's face in the flashlight beam.

"My ears are ringing and I'm still seeing stars, but I'm ok."

"Wow, ghost babies are _mean_," June muttered from where she gingerly wiped mud away from Sam's blistered palms. "But I still want to bury what's left of little Jamie properly. All we need is for some skank whore of a witch to get a hold of these blackened bones."

"A few yards of concrete?" Dean grinned at Sam, then offered a hand to help haul Sam to his feet.

"Oh yeah. On a sunny day," Sam grinned, blinking rain away from his lashes.

They sloshed their way back to the Impala.

-oOo-

_**Oklahoma City, OK**_

He'd lost their three-way rock-paper-scissors death-match, which was why he was on the second watch. Sam yawned and worked his bare toes deeper into June's fur. It was always a struggle to stay awake in the stretch between two am and daylight. So he readjusted his slouched posture in the chair and turned the volume up a notch on his movie.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He glanced over and swallowed a gasp. Sam tugged out his ear-buds and slowly drew his feet out from under June, sending her soothing vibes to keep her asleep. He crept closer to Dean's bed.

As close as he could get, considering. Every loose object in the room weighing less than a few ounces was slowly orbiting his brother's bed, an arm's length above the mattress, with Dean the eye of the lazily rotating ring.

"Dean!" he whispered.

Flat on his belly, face against the pillow, Dean didn't stir. Sam ducked under the bizarre asteroid belt. He touched Dean's shoulder.

Dean twitched. "Whazit?" he snorted, without opening his eyes.

"Nothin', dude. You were dreaming," Sam lied.

Pens, change, toothpicks, drinking straws, cell phones, stray peanuts, they all pattered and clattered down around the bed. "Whazat noise?"

"Rain. Go back to sleep."

"'k..."

Sam dropped onto the end of his own bed and watched, but nothing moved now except the slow rise and fall of Dean's back as he breathed. Sam began to gather up the fall-out.

He'd never been more wide-awake in his life.

_**To Be Continued in 'Stop, Drop and Roll'...**_

-oOo-

_**Author's Note**_

First of all, thank you for reading. I write for fun, but there's not much fun in it if no one else enjoys it! I'm always interested in reading others' work and talking about writing, too; yours, mine- anyone's. Feel free to PM me anytime!

Special thanks and affection goes out to Jennytork, who introduced me to SPN and then held my hand, encouraged me, patiently listened as I've nattered and panicked, and served as my repository of Winchester knowledge for what happened where to whom and when, for everything I've written. When I call you Sis, I mean it, hon- and not just for this!

Another huge debt of gratitude to my new friend Judyh, who has been kind enough to beta-read this installment of the trio's adventures. It's a better piece of fiction, regardless of genre, for her influence too.

Of course, all mistakes (and anything you may simply loathe) are all and only my fault.

The lore here is "factual," with only the slightest SPN-style twists. The quote Dean reads about Amy and the ferocious black hound in the hedge can be read in its entirety in the archive at the website Suite 101. Search for the article titled: "Spectral Hounds, Legends and a True Account."

The sentence Sam reads about the scorched claw marks left on an English church door came from the article "Hell-Hounds of the Modern Kind" on the site Mysterious Universe (a non-profit site that uses the org designation.)

There is no such haunted mental hospital in Memphis, and that part of the tale is an amalgam of a lot of places and people and based entirely on research and artistic license for story purposes.

Dr. Asa Clark was a fine and benevolent doctor, from all historical accounts, of an exemplary progressive 19th century asylum in a different state. As far as I know, he is resting in well-earned eternal peace. Dean thought his fictional namesake would eventually turn vengeful, but I have my doubts. ;-)

Again, thank you for reading!


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